


Something to Protect

by Dickbutt



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Dragon Hanzo Shimada, Fluff, Mild Blood, Other, Protective hanzo, Shapeshifting, Weird Dragon Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-31
Updated: 2017-07-31
Packaged: 2018-12-09 12:10:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11668857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dickbutt/pseuds/Dickbutt
Summary: The enemy is clearly neutralized – but where is Hanzo?With effort, you turn your head, and come face to snout with a bright-eyed dragon.





	Something to Protect

**Author's Note:**

> Original Request: !!! Requests are open! If it's ok, what about dragon hanzo/ dragon shifter hanzo?? It can be whatever you'd like, from first meeting s/o, getting together, in the relationship, etc
> 
> Originally posted at: [Dickbutt Writes Again](http://dickbutt-writes-again.tumblr.com) on Tumblr.

You’re on the ground.

You can’t quite remember how you got there, but your ears are ringing, there are rocks digging into your back and a cloudless grey sky hangs overhead. Any coherent thought you might have had dissolves before it can solidify and you’re left in a confused daze, desperately trying and failing to take inventory of your physical state. There is an ache, ever present, but distant, and you drift off in trying to pin down its location on your body. A crunch of dirt and gravel beneath a boot.

Oh. You aren’t alone.

_Of course you aren’t_ , your brain supplies helpfully.  _You are on a mission. And something has gone very wrong._

Well no shit, you were lying on your back in the middle of the – you’re arguing with yourself. You’d shake yourself out of it if you could move your head, but as it is, you blink languidly, relishing in the darkness that your closed eyes provide. You keep your eyes closed a little longer.

Sounds are all a distorted haze, but even half-conscious, you can easily tell the timbre of Hanzo’s voice, twisted with fury as it is. You try to open your eyes to see him, but they, too, refuse to cooperate, right along with the rest of you. The yelling escalates quickly to fighting – as it does – and your eyes blink blearily open to catch glimpses of the action. Your head throbs, and you belatedly realize that you can’t feel your legs. Huh. That… probably isn’t good. Your head lolls to the side, pressing gravel into your cheek.

And something suddenly changes.

The air shimmers with heat, distorting and warping the space around Hanzo’s body, though you can’t tell if it’s from something he’s done or from the disorienting level of blood loss you’re experiencing. The outline of his shape blurs, like he’s disappearing, and you want to reach out for him, but you find yourself still unable to move at all.

The sound that comes from him is inhuman – and then his body follows.

A dark shape stands braced over you, distantly familiar, but a figure you cannot place, coiling outward like a plume of smoke before settling, corporeal. Another sound, like a scream or… a roar, echoes out, rattling around in your aching skull and amplifying the pain. You flinch against it. Then come screams of a different kind, the fleeing and then suddenly cut-off kind. You decide quickly that you’re better off not being able to see it.

The sounds of conflict die quicker than you would have expected, but it didn’t sound like there were very many enemies to begin with – thankfully. At least not nearby. Even the strange and vicious snarling has died down, and it’s so suddenly quiet that you briefly worry that you’ve lost some hearing. But the sound of your own ragged breathing dispels that fear, once your mind focuses enough to realize that sounds were still happening.

But otherwise, the silence is… disquieting.

You decide to take a chance. And though you ache like you’ve been run over, you force yourself halfway into a sitting position, gravel digging into your forearms and palms. You shake from the effort, but it allows you to see the aftermath that has you struck silent.

Even with your vision impaired as it is, you cannot mistake the carnage laying before you, a battleground strewn with bodies. The enemy is clearly neutralized – but where is Hanzo?

With effort, you turn your head, and come face to snout with a bright-eyed dragon. It shocks you enough to send you flat on your back, which jostles your injuries. A loud groan of pain escapes you as you manage to roll on your side, still trying to regain control of your body. The dragon snorts, its hot breath washing over your face, smelling of charcoal and something unidentifiable, and you find yourself nearly recoiling. But nothing happens and you open your eyes again, slowly – blearily – focusing in on the dragon’s tilted head and piercing stare. The scales around its eyes were such an iridescent blue… It helps you to establish eye contact with the beast you’re becoming certain actually means no harm toward you.

It looks like…  _Oh._

You’re nearly dizzied anew by the sudden realization, and by how long it took you to reach the conclusion that this dragon is his – or…  _yours_ , rather; your brave, beautiful dragon, who grows more mysterious by the day. You desperately attempt to commit to memory the thought that you really,  _really_  need to ask him about this when things aren’t quite so… dire. (The thought is punctuated by distant gunfire.)

And then you belatedly realize –  _again_  – that your dragon is still staring at you, unblinking (if it even had eyelids?) and unmoving. You blink several times in succession, lick your dry lips and taste blood. When you try to speak, the only thing that comes up is a raspy cough. Immediately, there is a concerned snout in your face, nudging and huffing, its feet making small moves in a nervous dance of being much too large to really do anything to help you. It’d be almost adorable outside of the circumstances.

Once your breathing steadies, you blindly reach a hand out and land it right between the dragon’s eyes. It huffs in a way you think is indignant and noses at your hand, the warm air blasting against your cool skin.

“I’m…” You swallow. “I’m okay.”

It stares at you for several more seconds, but that you gave a coherent answer seems to satisfy it for now. The dragon curls around you with a soft growl, mindful of its own claws as it positions the length of its body in a tight circle. It settles its head beside yours, rumbling with what might have been purrs had it not been a giant reptile – although, given that dragons were a thing that weren’t supposed to exist in the first place, maybe that didn’t matter. Your hand touches the warm, smooth scales on the side of its face and you manage a feeble series of strokes along the surface. It closes its eyes, making gentle crooning noises at the contact.

It isn’t long before you begin losing consciousness again, some weighty combination of your injuries and the warmth of the dragon, pulling you down into the dark. You’re out before the extraction; you don’t see the dragon become the man again, don’t know that your teammates missed the whole thing, but were just as full of the same questions.

 

* * *

 

Hanzo isn’t particularly avoidant afterward, but he waits until you’re no longer laid up in the infirmary to approach you about it. It makes sense; it ensures a private conversation if you’re not constantly looking over your shoulder for Angela or anyone else to wander in on you. So he takes you to a favored spot at the Watchpoint, an outcrop over the ocean, safe enough for anyone not blessed with climbing prowess, thankfully enough. It’s quiet there, and you’ll be left well enough alone.

It’s clear he doesn’t quite know how to begin, but you don’t press, and sit patiently, enjoying the view while he composes himself. But as he grows increasingly frustrated with himself, (though it’s only a subtle shift in his features, you catch it easily) you find it prudent to reassure him.

“It’s alright, Hanzo; we don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.” It’s hard to make it feel casual without implying that it doesn’t matter; you worry briefly about pushing him away. “I’ll be alright.”

“I… do not wish to keep secrets from you,” he murmurs, hands clenched against his thighs. “…But this is something I did not think I would ever have to explain.”

“More ‘dragon magic?’”

He chuckles dryly at your choice of words. “Yes, I suppose so.”

He’s opening himself back up, so you move a little closer; not immediately next to him, but now within reaching distance. He visibly relaxes, which is a good sign to keep going.

“You didn’t summon them.”

He takes a deep breath.

“I had run out of arrows. And… you were not moving.” He grimaces at the memory. “I assumed the worst. The dragons thought it worthy that I – ” he swallows “ – avenge you.”

“So you…  _became_  a dragon?”

“The dragons require a conduit.” It’s an explanation he’s given you before, so you remain silent. “Contained to a weapon, they are still powerful but… limited. But to use  _oneself_ as a conduit… It is dangerous, and requires the permission of the spirits, to deem it a worthy cause.”

“Oh,” you breathe. It’s a little flattering, that ancient dragon spirits saw you worth protecting. It carries some serious implications that you don’t dare to voice.

He goes quiet. You want to nudge to conversation, keep it going, because it isn’t terribly often that he’s so open or forthcoming.

“Can Genji turn into a dragon too?”

You barely see the flinch, but you immediately wish you could take the question back.

“No, it is… only myself.” His voice is tight. “The burden of the Shimada heir, to carry out the will of the clan. …It was how I… was made to bring Genji to heel,” he spits with derision. “The will of the clan…”

His face is drawn and your stomach falls. It was never an easy thing for him to speak of, and though he had brought himself to the train of thought, you led him there… Your fingertips skate across the back of his hand, which he turns palm up to grasp you. Your hand is an anchor to the present, and he breathes deep as he pulls himself from the memory.

“…I have not been the dragon since that night. It was…” He shakes his head. “I cannot describe the feeling.”

He goes quiet, and you can’t help the swell of guilt inside you. Your expression visibly drops and you turn away from him. But it sets off a thought that you can’t help, revisiting earlier implications – that if the dragons are so choosy, it was very likely that they could have easily found you… unworthy. You swallow, glancing to your entwined hands, and your quiet words drift to him.

“So… what if –“

“Do not.”

You listen, knowing better. But his voice is firm without heat, and he calms quickly. You clear your throat quietly, glad that your missteps have not been cause enough for him to retreat. It’s… pleasant, for a change. Navigating the minefield of Hanzo’s emotions is not always easy.

“Well… I’m thankful you were there to protect me.”

“I will always be there to protect you,” comes his immediate reply.

You warm from the inside and press a little closer, shoulder to shoulder, and he silently welcomes the contact, hand releasing yours so his arm can come around you. You sigh, content, glad for the show of affection, one he’d never grant had you not been in private. Although, it was nice to be able to hold him outside the complete solitude of your respective quarters.

Evident of his comfort, he breaks the silence himself this time.

“…Genji would likely inherit the ability were I to pass.” He clears his throat, red creeping into his face. “Or my child… should I have one.”

Your face grows a little warmer in kind. “…Right.”

With as hard as you’re avoiding thinking about what the statement insinuated, you’re certain he’s making double the effort. You don’t dare to travel down that road – not yet.

“Would you… be able to do it again?” you ask quietly, once your face had cooled, hoping to steer both of you in a different direction.

“Of course.” At your pointed but flustered look he makes a small sound of understanding. “Ah, now?”

“…Yeah?”

He glances away. “The dragons will only grant me this in emergency, or… as I said, for a cause they found worthy.”

You flush again. “Right, of course. That’s… that was silly. …Sorry.”

You try not to make your disappointment obvious; you really only wanted to see given that you weren’t entirely there during his time as the dragon.

Hanzo’s arm slips from around you and you turn your head to see his blush return, creeping slowly up his neck, though his face remains impassive. He coughs not-so-discreetly into his fist.

“The dragons will not let me take their form for this, no. But…”

You try to school your expression into neutrality, but your face must betray you if the upward tilt to his lips is any indication.

“I am sure they would not mind me, ah… borrowing some of their power, for just a little while. It is for a good cause, after all.”

Knowing little of dragons beyond what he’s told you, you are neither inclined to agree nor disagree, but his sly smile remains in place as the air around him warms. It’s familiar. The space around him shimmers, distorting, and his tattoo glows. You squint against the increasing light, trying to glimpse the magic at work, but it grows bright enough that you have to look away.

He clears his throat again when it’s over, to attract your attention, and your throat dries when you open your eyes. Hanzo has the nerve to actually look nervous.

He’s  _beautiful._

Shining blue scales frame his eyes – which possess an otherworldly glow – and trail down his neck, over his shoulders, and disappear where the cloth of his kyuudo-gi hides his skin; his tattoo remains untouched, but still glowing. The newly tapered tips of his ears peek out from where his longer hair falls around his face and two little antlers –  _horns_ , you correct yourself – grow from his hairline.

Your eyes dart from place to place on him, unable to focus on just one thing, desperate to take in this exciting new shape of him.

You must be gaping, silent just a little too long.

“Are you satisfied?” he asks, a little terse.

You stumble of your tongue, a little embarrassed that you’ve just been staring at him without saying a word. You lean further into his space again and cup his face in your hands – ignoring his mildly startled look – and run your thumbs over the smooth scales dusting his cheekbones.

“You are  _gorgeous._ ”

He chokes on a breath, flushing darker at the praise, but he allows you to continue touching him, almost preening under the attention (though he’d  _never_  admit it outright). He makes a sound low in his throat as your fingers scratch at his scalp and down behind his ears, briefly running over his horns.

“I doubt – “ he suppresses a soft moan “- that my ancestors intended for a dragon to be fawned over like a pet.”

It’s a serious statement, but at least he sounds almost amused.

“Well, times change.”And you laugh as he melts into the touch of your fingertips, as they slide down and press into a particularly tender part of his shoulders. “And I rather like the idea of having a big, strong dragon looking after me.”

He arcs a brow, eyes taking on a peculiar shine.

“So you mean to tame me?”

“You mean you aren’t already?”

“Hm….”He leans in slightly, expression almost predatory. “I think that you are lucky that I care for you as much as I do.”

Your head tips forward and he meets you halfway, mouths sliding against each other; your lips part just enough to catch a hint of sharper teeth. As you part, your hands return to his face, thumbs gently stroking over his scales again, and you smile as his eyes slide closed, content.

“…I think so too.”


End file.
